


Elysium

by The Curator of The Sands (GrimRevolution)



Series: The Knight and the Princess [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbians, Magic, Mind Control, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, Pidge!whump, Sentient Voltron Lions, and there's still high tech, based upon old European lore, cause that's fun, i accidentally turned this into a medieval au except they're still on planet altea, this au is basically just being world built as i write it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-02-12 02:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12949512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimRevolution/pseuds/The%20Curator%20of%20The%20Sands
Summary: “It does not matter, for you are unarmed,” the Ohgihrian hissed, “and alone.”“I am never alone.”





	1. Rise of the Green Lion

Hunk had outdone himself, Pidge thought as the servants began to stream in through the doors. They had dishes piled high on their trays—soups first; chilled ones that he had spoken to her about that were various colours and flavours. They were perfect for the warm dining hall and the heat of the Altean summer. Pidge felt kind of bad for calling them smoothies in a bowl.

Only kind of, though.

She was too busy running back and forth from the kitchens, grabbing Allura’s food, wine, and water to ever truly be distracted by her thoughts. And, when she wasn’t running, she was sitting behind the princess in the shadows, silent and out of sight.

“Princess,” one of the foreign dignitaries spoke up. He was sitting on the other side of the Princess as her right had been claimed by the king. “I do believe your servant is hungry.”

“Oh?” Allura hummed and there was a small tilt of amusement in her tone. The silver spoon clinked against the bowl of soup, looking sharp against the light, pink colour and the sharp red of the berries.

The Ohgihron nodded. “Yes, Princess, he keeps looking in this direction.”

 _It’s my job_ , Pidge wanted to point out to him but, instead, stepped forward to take the empty jug.

“Well,” the princess said as the knight passed by her. One hand reached out, subtly, under the table cloth and ran up Pidge’s hip, “he is _my_ servant.” There was a purr of possession in her voice.

Pidge fought the urge to shudder and took a few of the empty plates and bowls. A thumb hooked into the belt loop of her pants and tugged, teasingly.

“Perhaps he is merely watching to make sure I am happy.”

Pidge met Allura’s half lidded gaze and stopped breathing for a moment as the Princess’ bright eyes settled upon her. A finger dipped below the waistband and ran, teasingly, across the fabric of the tucked shirt.

“I would agree, Princess.” The dignitary was still speaking and Pidge turned her attention back to the empty dishes that needed gathering. She forced herself to ignore the subtle tugging on her pants until Allura exhaled something that could have been a sigh—it was far too happy to be disappointed though—and released her. “But there is a hunger in his gaze and he keeps redirecting his attention away from the food.”

“ _Hunger_?” Allura sounded pleasantly amused more than worried. Instead, she pricked a berry with her fork and brought it up to her lips. The soup dripped off it and she sucked the liquid off before taking it into her mouth. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to satisfy it.”

Pidge fled to the kitchens to grab more wine and maybe bury her face into a pot of boiling oil. That would surely be able to sear off the blush that was spreading across her cheeks.

oOo

Around the main entrée, Keith took the place of the servant behind the king. Alfor didn’t notice as both the old and new servant wore the same clothes and kept themselves out of sight so as to not be a disruption, but Pidge did. They weren’t able to cross paths until, at last, both were sent back for water and wine.

They passed Hunk who only partially looked up when they passed before he turned his attention back to the plates that were being prepared. As they placed the jugs under the barrels, Keith passed her a small, black and green chip. It was one of the data collectors from the BLIP tech and, when Pidge flicked her wrist, a small screen popped up above it.

“I can’t read it,” Keith said, and it was mostly numbers and letters, data that could be plugged into a different program to show all the details at once.

Pidge skimmed it, frowning the further she got. “Did you drop it into their ship?” Her voice was quiet enough to be covered by the sound of the wine hitting the bottom of the jug.

“No, we had to put it underneath.”

She imagined Keith or Lance trying to squeeze, unnoticed, under the ship and stopped the smirk before it could take over her face. “This,” Pidge said instead, tapping on a number that didn’t seem any different than the rest.

“What’s that?”

Looking up, she met his gaze. The amusement had completely abandoned her features and there was nothing except seriousness. “That’s the number of people still on the ship.”

oOo

Keith promised to take the information back to Shiro and, by desserts, he was gone and the original servant was back.

No one noticed.

The feast continued and music joined the conversation, weaving in and out of words. Allura was talking with the officials from the Ohgiron government and they smile pleasantly at her, speaking politely and kindly. Alfor kept his daughter in the conversation and it seemed like no one disagreed—they all seemed to be watching the princess.

Enthralled, perhaps. Or curious.

There was no move towards her, no move towards the food or the drink, but Pidge didn’t stop watching. At some point, she saw Lance slip into the room and say something to one of the door guards before he was gone again. She didn’t see Keith or Shiro for the rest of the night and, by the time the food had been finished and all the plates cleared, she wasn’t expecting to.

Later, when everyone was excused to go rest before the meetings tomorrow, Pidge walked beside Allura back to the princess’ rooms. Not beside her, beside her, but a little bit behind so they weren’t quite equal but could still talk.

“Please, give my compliments to Hunk,” The Princess said, “he out did himself tonight—and with such notice!”

Pidge nodded because he had—the Yellow Knight would have been in his rooms already, passed out on his bed had nobody said something to him. Instead, he would stay up the rest of the night, cleaning up with the rest of his crew and keeping an ear out.

“And _you_ ,” Allura turned upon Pidge the moment they had moved into a more secluded section of the castle. There was a playful tint to her eyes and the green knight swallowed. “I was very grateful to have you by my side tonight.

“Your highness—”

The Princess pressed her finger to Pidge’s lips, silencing her. “Allura, please, in private.”

“Allura,” Pidge corrected and the name sounded foreign on her tongue after all the years of being forbidden to say it out of respect. It felt odd, forming in her mouth now even though she had said it under... much different circumstances earlier. “I’m afraid I didn’t do all that much.”

Besides watch and wait and spill secrets in the kitchen to Keith.

“Hmm,” Allura pulled her hand away from the servant’s face and tapped her chin. “Maybe not visibly,” The princess admitted, “But I felt safe, with you there.”

Pidge didn’t know what to say to that, so she said nothing.

The princess’ smile turned savage. “But I did hear one of our guests mention that you seemed _hungry_.” Allura leaned forward, eyes dark, lips curled in a smirk. The knight flushed but she wasn’t sure if the heat was from her blush or from how close the other woman was.

It could have been due to both.

“Perhaps there’s something we could do about that.”

oOo

The night passed slowly, finally settling into the part of the evening where only a few people were moving about, and Pidge sat, legs folded, in someplace that was between wakefulness and asleep. The floor of the castle was cold beneath her, the thick sweatpants diminished the chill, but the loose tank top hung, too big, around her slim form and she kept her back straight to keep from touching the wall.

Pidge’s eyes were closed—but her ears were focused on every sound. Beside her, something moved; a ghost, perhaps, or something stranger. It growled softly, unheard by anyone except for the green knight and brown eyes opened slowly.

Someone was moving through the hallway.

She stood, getting up to her bare feet, picked up the dishes and silverware beside her, and made her way slowly through the hallway, back towards the princess’ rooms. Balancing everything on one hand, Pidge made sure to ruffle her hair with the other, slump her shoulders, and drag her feet. The act didn’t last long before she came across three figures—none of them bothering to hold a light. Cloaks dropped down over their shoulders, hiding their arms and, therefore, the holsters on their belts from view, but revealed the pale, stolen, Altean armour.

“Apologies, my Lords,” Pidge bowed her head slightly, eyes open and focused on their feet, “I didn’t see you.”

“The fault is ours, servant,” one said, the middle Ohgihrian.

Pidge’s shadow growled deep in its throat. The sound vibrated through the hallway.

Plates hit the floor and shattered, silverware clinking on the pieces. Steel hit steel with a thunderous screech and echoed across the stone. The long, thin dagger glinted, looking like a shard of moonlight. It hovered inches away from Pidge’s neck and the thin bit of cartilage that separated vertebrae from vertebrae.

He had been aiming to sever her spinal cord in one, swift blow.

The blade that stopped it was less of a shard of light and more like the root of a tree; thicker, semi-curved at the top like a hook, and had green energy as the blade that pulsed in time with a trunk dancing in the wind. Black metal—at least, it looked like metal—made up the handle and the spine of the blade

It wasn’t so much a dagger as quintessence made to resemble one.

Green—an unnatural green, the kind of chemicals and danger—had flooded over the brown of Pidge’s eyes and they glowed with the power of old, wild things.

She stepped forward before the Ohgihrian could twitch and sliced open his throat. He gurgled as he fell, blue blood splashing across the stone, forehead down and bowing at her feet. Pidge didn’t look at him; her focus was on the other two and how they stepped around her, out of reach of her weapons. The Knight pressed her free thumb against the leaf tattooed upon her wrist that was glowing the same colour as her eyes and the dagger, and pulled away smoke made of light.

It twisted like a nebula and formed a matching blade as if it was a star.

The Ohgihrian to her left opened his mouth as if to speak and she lunged forward like a fencer and gutted him so the only words that came out of his mouth were garbled around a groan. He too, fell to the ground, and the Knight parried the sword swung towards her head. Blood on stone made the sanded down surface too slick to do quick movements. Pidge settled with parrying for now, stepping on cracks to keep her grip. The bottom of her sweats slapped around her ankles—heavy now that they were wet.

The last Ohgihrian was watching her, having drawn his own, thin, rapier. The blade was made of some black metal that didn’t glint in the moonlight and seemed, instead, like it swallowed the light around it. His thrusts were swift and light, darting back and forth as if the tip was a buzzing insect. Pidge knocked the tip away, redirecting it away from her body and holding the other dagger close.

His weapon had more reach but every time she knocked it outward, he was able to bring it back in faster than she could close the space. The death throes of the other two Ohgihrians had quieted leaving nothing but the clang of metal and steep breathing between the Knight and the Mercenary.

A thrust towards her neck forced Pidge to use the blood to slide around his legs sand slip around—

“Pidge!”

She turned to the voice automatically—out of habit—and managed to catch sight of the bright pink nightgown that belonged to the princess if Altea.

Her shadow roared and Pidge ducked to the side without looking. Metal whistled as it passed her and she rolled into that gap it left behind and stabbed the daggers up blindly.  

The Ohgihrian howled and fell to his knees, his sword falling to stone with a clatter.

Stumbling slightly—clumsy—Pidge got up to her feet, ripped the dagger out of his flesh, and stabbed him in the fleshy bit of neck right before the collarbone. Unprotected and too vulnerable even in the armour. He stared up at her with wide eyes and slid to the side, off the blade, joining his comrades on the floor.

She left him there, breathing coming out in soft pants, her sweats heavy and falling ever so slightly around her hips, the tank top loose and breezy around her sweat slicked skin. The daggers were blown away by her breath, whisking away as if they had only been smoke that entire time.

In the corner, the shadow rumbled.

Pidge stumbled when she turned, almost tripping over her own feet, and tugged the pants higher on her waist, tightening the drawstring. Her shoulder ached and the knight rolled it carefully to make sure it was just stinging from her roll instead of something more damaging. It was aching, but nothing serious.

“Pidge.”

She didn’t look up at the Princess. She didn’t look at the bodies. “There might be more on the way, Your Highness.”

“ _Pidge_.”

Careful, gentle hands cupped her jaw and tilted the Knight’s face upward. Her eyes still glimmered with that faint, wild green but they closed, slowly, at Allura’s touch.

“You’re hurt—”

That didn’t matter.

It _didn’t_.

She was supposed to protect the princess in any way necessary. “It’s nothing.”

Lips brushed across her cheek and Pidge gasped—from the slight sting or from the touch, she wasn’t sure. She opened her eyes in time to watch Allura pull away and heard, distantly, the sounds of metal clashing and yelling.

“We have to go,” Pidge said and she picked the black sword off the ground, took the Princess’ hand, and headed towards the small servant’s staircase just left of the royal chambers. It was quiet and dark but the Knight led Allura down the steep steps, winding down and around, passing branching off hallways that led to other sections of the castle. It was silent in the way that death was—the echoes of fighting swallowed up by walls and wooden doors. The fighting didn’t seem like it was coming from any of those small passages and the knight was grateful for the amount of security that, at least, gave them.

“Where are we going?” Allura murmured as they passed another hallway—one that led out to the courtyard and gardens. She seemed dazed, as if the situation hadn’t quite caught up with her.

“Away from here,” Pidge told her, focused on getting away as fast as possible. Her first priority was the Princess—she had to have faith in the rest of Voltron. She had to believe in their capabilities.

They came out in the empty laundry rooms; drying uniforms, sheets, and clothing were hung about. A jacket had been left hanging on the back of a chair. Pidge glanced back at Allura’s thin night dress and pulled a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a woven sweater off the line. “Your highness,” she said, holding the clothes out to the Princess.

For a moment, it looked like Allura would argue, but then she, too, looked down at the pyjamas and took the clothes. Pidge turned her back to give her some privacy and looked over the weapon.

The sword was made of some sort of metal she’d never seen before. It didn’t bend like normal rapiers, and—while others of its kind were more for stabbing than slicing—this one was cut in a triangle so it not only had a point but also three, sharpened edges. She swung it like one would a broader sword but it was silent.

It wasn’t Ohgihrian and it wasn’t Altean.

“What about my father?” Allura’s voice was soft from behind her, “Do you know anything of him?”

She didn’t.

“The Black knight,” Pidge said, her words slow as she chose them carefully, “would rather die than let any harm befall the King.”

Something crashed above them and the Knight darted forward, taking Allura’s hand in her own and pulling her forward, away from the staircase and towards a closet door. It opened with ease and she shoved the cleaning supplies out of the way and grabbed the ring to the trap door. Hoisting it took more effort than it should have—years of sitting still and rust had glued the hinges together.

Allura took one side and, together, the women hauled it open.

A wooden ladder led down into the dark. Pidge shut the closet door.

The princess hesitated. “Where are you taking me?”

“To safety.” Out of the castle, far from the fighting.

Silence crackled between them. “I will not leave my people to _die_ ,” Allura hissed, “while I run off to hide.”

Curse stubborn, honourable _royalty_. “That is,” Pidge snapped back, “exactly why they die; so you might _live_ , Allura.” The Green Knight pointed at the open trap door, teeth bared in a partial snarl. “Now, climb down the _fucking_ ladder or so help me _—_ ”

Giggling stopped the words in her throat and Allura had pressed one hand against her lips to muffle the sound.

Pidge flushed, cleared her throat, and straightened up again. “Sorry, I—”

“No,” Allura waved away the apology and Pidge was probably imagining the dusting of colour on dark cheeks, “no—you’re right, of course.” She looked away and the small, brief burst of happiness was gone. With a sigh, the Princess turned towards the trapdoor, the ladder, and started climbing down.

Waiting until her white hair had vanished into the dark; Pidge grabbed the old wood and lowered the trapdoor as she descended, closing it and encasing both of them in black.

It wasn’t that far of a climb and she touched down on dirt floor after a few seconds. The soil reminded her that she nor the princess didn’t have any shoes but it was too late to go back up and see if there were any that would fit in the laundry room.

Groping blindly along the wall, Pidge’s hand hit an old lantern and, with a snap of green smoke, the wick flickered to life. It illuminated old, crumbling stone, wooden beams that held the ceiling up, and old little knickknacks people had forgotten about like tied up sacks and what looked like some squirreled away goblets from the kitchen. The tunnel only went one way and, together, the women walked.

Allura took Pidge’s hand at some point—the one currently not holding the black sword—and they held on to each other as the tunnel tilted upwards. Roots peeked through the ceiling; wood roots that were thick and wove around the walls, thin roots that got tangled like fine hair, thorny, vine-y, soft. A stone staircase was beyond them, leading up to another trap door.

It opened in the open area left to the stables, where many of the riding beasts could wander about. Thick, thorn bushes hid the opening of the door from view and a fence covered in tangled vines covered them at the back. Behind them, there was clashing at the castle. Screaming, yelling, shouted orders lost to the dark of the night.

And, fainter, in the walls of the castle; a roar of rage.

Pidge couldn’t think about that now, so she grabbed Allura’s hand and they ran towards the flickering light of the stable. If they could get one of the large riding beasts—a Volashka—they could ride into the forest.

Too late, did Pidge realize that the stable door was open and the inside smelled of blood. Too late to duck into the undergrowth around the fence and crawl to the woods.

Too damn _late_.

Beasts lay upon the hay and the dirt, butchered down to even the youngest, the smallest. The ground was stained with their blood, their eyes open and unseeing, tapped into stalls by their masters and having no way to defend themselves.

Allura gasped softly beside her and Pidge tried to guide the princess around, back towards the door—

Only just did she manage to lift the black sword in time but she parried the blow wrong and thick, aching tremors shook the bones of her arm and, without a proper grip, the blade went flying into the hay.

“The Princess of Altea,” the Ohgihrian straightened up—he was wearing his species armour, unlike the ones Pidge had fought in the castle, “and her little servant boy.”

Pidge blew hot air up at her bangs, trying to get them to unstuck from her forehead. She calculated the distance to the sword and the amount of space it would leave between the mercenary and the Princess.

Too much, said the numbers. Too far.

“ _You_ did this?” Allura snarled; the words were harsh and cold and _burned_.

Fingers dug into Pidge’s shoulder. Nails almost punctured her skin.

Looking around, the mercenary grinned wolfishly, “do you not like my handiwork?”

“Only a coward kills those who cannot defend themselves,” Allura snapped and the Ohgihrian turned his head towards her and opened his mouth as if to say something.

A lantern hit him in the shoulder, flames spraying across the mercenary’s cloak, oil splashing upon bloodied hay. The princess had lifted it off the wall and thrown it in her fury and the glass spread upon the dirt and shone like small stars. He shed the fabric like a lizard shedding skin and lifted the sword in his hand. Fire glinted off the clean parts of the metal—the rest was dark with a liquid the Knight knew well.

“It does not matter, for you are unarmed,” the Ohgihrian hissed, “and _alone_.”

“I am never alone,” Pidge said and green infested her eyes like a swarm of termites, filling the brown irises as if they were a glass, swilling and spinning around her pupils. The leaf tattooed upon her wrist flickered and began to glow.

Her shadow grew like a tree across the floor, beneath the mercenary and behind him until it stretched up the stable wall. The darkness grew; rising and combining into a beast that was darker than any shadow cast by the flames of the lanterns. Half circle ears sat upon a featureless, rounded head.

Two radiant green eyes opened upon the black.

Wood folded like blades of grass, twisting and braiding together, pulling away from the wall of the barn and forming the figure of a beast. Its shoulder was easily higher than Pidge’s nose, padded paws with long claws kneaded into the dirt and hay, and a shortened muzzle opened to reveal the tips of pointed canines. The cat—because that’s what it was—stepped forward silently and light curved around those glowing eyes. A cream underbelly highlighted the dark emerald fur from nose to ears before it mixed with the woody brown of the tiger’s mane around round cheeks and a thick neck. Woody antlers grew from the space between the ears, fanning back and outward with one, two, three, _four_ branches that spiked upwards from the stems. Alstroemeria and sage were woven around them—creating a crown fit for a queen upon the beast’s brow.

A round tipped tail, half the creature’s body length, swiped through the air.

Pidge held her breath as the Green Lion opened her maw and _roared_. The sound shook the grass, the flowers, and the trees. Deep inside the Knight, a young wild thing howled.

A paw slapped down on the mercenary as he turned and knocked him, head over heels, into one of the beams holding up the stables. The wood cracked and splintered from the blow and the Ohgihrian didn’t get back up.

“Green,” Pidge breathed.

The Lion purred.


	2. The Fae Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some people are born with stars at their feet and their souls lost at sea

Green’s head was half the size of Pidge’s torso but that didn’t stop them from pressing their foreheads together. The large feline purred, nudging forward with her nose until fingers scratched behind rounded ears and traced the faded rose spots along broad cheeks. The fire from the lantern flickered, gaining speed as it was left, unattended, but neither seemed to notice.

Arching into the touch, the Green Lion closed her eyes and almost knocked her Knight back on her ass with her sudden pushing. Allura caught Pidge with two hands on her shoulders and was momentarily stunned by the sudden, bright smile the smaller woman threw her way. It was bright despite the long, thin cut on pale cheek that must have ached with the shift of expression, but the princess couldn’t help but smile back.

“Allura,” Pidge said, stepping just enough out of the way to be off to the side, “this is the Green Lion.”

The cat lifted her head away from her Knight and turned to the Princess. Green eyes flickered like a witch’s flame, black fur surrounding them to make the light seem brighter, dangerous. Brown stripes thinned and turned to spots along her back that were less of the roses and more like someone had dropped a paint brush and it rolled across the ground. Rings circled the tail, though they didn’t form enough contrast or were so many that it was like a raccoon. In fact, they were mostly just at the base and thinned before vanishing completely halfway to the tip.

Paws were silent against the dirt floor as Green padded forward, leaning out to sniff Allura’s face. Hot air washed over the princess, fluttering her white hair. The lion pulled back with a quiet huff, her tail flicked, and then a hot, pink tongue licked Allura from chin to forehead.

“Ugh! No! Green!” Pidge grabbed one of the antlers and pulled Green away from the princess who sputtered and tried—very discretely—to wipe her face. “That’s so gross!”

Seeming to take affront to her display of affection being called _gross_ , the Green lion pushed Pidge so she tumbled back, flopped down on her lower half, and proceeded to bathe the knight’s face. A hot, sandpaper tongue dragged against pale skin, and, by the time Allura managed to wipe down her face with her borrowed shirt, brown hair was sticking up in spikes.

“No, no!” Pidge was laughing, shoving at the broad, black nose, “mercy!” She turned as the tongue came back down and stilled, her eyes meeting the glazed, blank gaze of one of the slaughtered beasts. Green snuffled and pulled back far enough to see what the Knight was looking at, stood up, and blocked the sight of the dead animal with one, heavy paw.

Bubbling joy popped upon the spikes of death and Pidge rolled over to get back up to her kneels, gently pushed Green out of the way, and laid her hand across a bloodied muzzle. “I’m sorry,” she told the creature and then stood, looked over the bloodied sanctuary of the stable, and used an upturned bucket to climb onto the Lion’s back. The knight reached out to Allura, offering her hand to the Princess. “We must go.”

“Where?” Allura murmured, taking a step closer to the cat. Green tilted her head so her antlers rose, giving the Princess an opening to climb onto her long back.

Pidge didn’t say, but Allura got behind her anyway, wrapped her arms around the Knight’s thin waist, and held on. Green rumbled beneath them, long antlers on either side of their bodies like some strange guard rail. Her tail flicked and then she jumped over the growing wall of fire and burst out the open doors into the night. Sparks floated around them like specs of red stars that had drifted down from the sky and fluttered away when the lion lifted her head.

Closer to the castle, red fire danced and spun like ladies in a ballroom. A different creature slunk between the flaming skirts; a twist of a long tail, the glint of white canines. Green turned away from the stone and the stables before Allura could see anything else and bounded across the open field. Paws thumped quietly as they touched grass, but the movement was like riding on a river—all currents and rounded motions. Even the breathing was quiet with long exhales and inhales that made every movement seem effortless.

Perhaps it was.

“Green!”

Allura jerked as the lion took a sharp left motion and held onto Pidge’s waist as one of the antlers almost smacked into her shoulder. She had to look over the Knight’s head to see what had gotten their attention and sat up straighter when she recognized the Ohgiron and the hand maiden he had cornered. Green lowered her head, straightened her neck, and bellowed a sound that seemed to come from the very depths of the earth.

Antlers slammed into the Ohgiron, picking him up across the branches, and tossed him well over the lion’s passengers. He grunted and tried to push himself up as Green snorted, slowed to a jog and turned in a half circle.

She tossed her head and flower petals spilled across brown and white hair.

“Eshia!” Pidge cried out to the wide eyed maid, “run! Run to the port!”

Green crouched low to the earth and snarled.

Eisha ran.

The Ohgiron fumbled with the sheath at his belt, cursing and backing away as the Lion darted forward. His sword was halfway out when the antlers caught him in the side, sending his body careening towards the fence. That time, he didn’t get up again.

Green slowed from a charge to a gentle jog, heading towards the woods.

The wood.

Allura had heard stories of those woods; about creatures that lived in the branches and people who never returned. Fairy tales, she believed.

They looked different at night.

“Trust me,” Pidge was looking back and Allura caught her gaze before her eyes turned to the castle of trees that sat across her father’s castle of stone.

Branches lifted out of the way for arching antlers.

“With my life,” Allura murmured.

Then, they were past the tree line and the shadows consumed all light except for the Green lion’s glowing eyes. Slowly, the dark gave way to shapes which gave way to sounds and chattering of things she couldn’t see. Laughter she couldn’t put to a face. Pidge pressed her hand to Allura’s arms around her waist and the touch was warm like a winter fire.

Green jumped over something—a log, no doubt—and the Princess gasped and buried her face into the angle of Pidge’s shoulder. Tilting her head to the side, the Knight pressed her cheek against Allura’s ear. “We’re almost there.”

“Where?” _Where are we going? Where are you taking me?_ Allura lifted her head just enough to get the general idea that they were going deeper into the woods but, ahead, there was a glimmer of blue and green light. They slammed through the trees into a small, grassy clearing; trunks leaned away from the middle where a ring of white mushrooms gleamed and everything seemed brighter compared to the reaching, hungry shadows of the woods.

It was marvellous, it was enchanting.

Allura had never been so terrified in her life.

Each fleshy umbrella seemed to reflect light as if they were made of water, sending slivers of blue and green light arching across the tips of branches and leaves and the Green Lion didn’t so much as hesitate in her stride as she made her way towards them.

“Pidge—”

“It’s alright,” the Knight breathed, her words seeming to ruffle the leaves on the trees. She patted Allura’s hand.

Green stepped into the Fairy Ring.

Light ruptured outwards, over the trees and the grass and the darkness, spinning and spreading until the entirety of the woods were filled with a glistening, blue-green glow. It didn’t seem to have a source—it simply _was_.

Eyes were watching them from the crannies of the trees—trees that had bent inward, covering up the space of sky that had once been in the clearing and blocking away the moon and the stars. Some of the watchers had spiny fingers that tapped against bark; others had insect faces and limbs too long for their bodies. The Green Lion walked beneath them and the flowers upon her antlers were brighter in the dim lighting, as if they were glowing from the inside.

Allura had no choice but to hold on to the woman in front of her, but she thought about glowing eyes in the dark hallway of the castle and the old stories about creatures in the woods and she wondered—

But then Pidge leaned into her hold with a small sigh and looked up with brown eyes as something small fluttered past. The cut on her cheek looked darker, dangerous, in the dim light and Allura reached out before she could stop herself, brushing her thumb under the wound.

“Thank you,” the princess said, because there had been many questions and the concerns but not the thanks. Her place was to be safe, so that Altea could continue. It hurt to think of it that way. But it was necessary.

If not, then she would lose herself to grief.

Pidge reached up and covered Allura’s hand with her own. “My duty has, and always be, to keep you safe.”

Beneath them, Green huffed and lifted her head, looking back at them with one eye before focusing, once more, on the path.

The Knight’s cheeks flushed pink and Allura giggled. “What did she say?”

 _I said,_ _‘that’s not all she does,’_ a voice said, rising through the wind. It sounded like bird song in the trees, of insects in the underbrush, of trees growing. It came from inside of Allura and outside at the same time, as if it was the forest itself.

And it was kind, above all things.

“You can speak?” Allura became aware of the fur beneath her, then. Of the antlers and the fast, padding walk.

_Here, to you, yes._

Pidge leaned forward, draped herself over Green’s body—chest to neck, arms laying in the space between ears and antlers, chin resting on the crown of the cat’s skull—and sighed. “We’re in Green’s world,” she said and traced the rose spots on furry cheeks, “she uses it to speak to you.”

“You are the queen of this...” ‘world’ wasn’t correct and ‘realm’ sounded closer but didn’t seem right.

A sound rose through the dark spaces of the trees and it took Allura a moment to realise what it was; laughter.

Wild laughter like that of coyotes and drilling woodpeckers.

 _No_ , Green said, _no, there is no ruler for this land_. There was amusement there, like a blanket across the words. _At least, not since I chose my Knight_.

Pidge huffed but didn’t elaborate so, instead, Allura placed her hands on the sliver of skin that had been revealed as her top has risen up, and rubbed the smooth expanse of hard muscle. The knight sighed and melted under her touch, eyes half closing as the Princess’ touch turned hard and soft in the right places.

Leaning forward, Allura rested her hands on Pidge’s shoulder blades and pressed a kiss to the back of the knight’s neck.

“You’re perfect,” Pidge murmured.

Beneath them, the Green lion rumbled.

“ _Both_ of you,” hands brushed over spots and a black nose before they dipped down to cup the cubic muzzle and scratch a cream coloured chin.

Green lifted her head and closed her eyes. The antlers fell back, enclosing the women, and flowers brushed against them.

Pidge hummed, the sound close enough to a purr that if Allura hadn’t felt in through the knight’s body, she might have suspected it had come from the lion.

“ _Perfect_.”

oOo

Allura woke not knowing how much time had passed since she had laid down. Around her, old, dark wood creaked and the small lantern flickered in the corner. Pidge was gone, her side of the bed only barely warm and the princess pushed the fur blankets off to stand. The mattress was nothing more than an overly large bag stuffed full of giant puff balls that were far more comfortable than anything manufactured on the planet and was so soft that it was hard to get off it.

She managed, though, and stepped out of the wide doorway out onto the balcony of the tree house. The bedroom was the entirety of the third ‘story’ with the second what had, Allura remembered, seemed like a small little library and the first a workshop with tools hanging upon the walls and a floor covered in wood shavings. A small, spiral staircase circled two of the four trunks that had created the original supporting beams and went through each.

Small little lights wound around the trees and branches, but they weren’t bright enough to block out the stars above her head—they were simply just enough to be safe.

“Pidge?” Allura called, careful to keep her voice quiet, but the knight wasn’t by the fire pit that still flickered with dying embers or the small, grassy hut the Green lion was curled in. The princess headed down the stairs, wondering, perhaps, if the other woman was in any of the other sections of the tree house but found them empty.

There was only the woods beyond the small clearing where the spaces between the trees had grown dark, dwarfed by the light of Pidge’s home, and the river.

 _Remember,_ the Knight’s voice was tired as they had laid down, _don’t venture into the woods alone._

 _Why?_ Allura had asked, curling closer to the other woman, her eyes drifting closed. She hadn’t been awake enough to hear Pidge’s response but she headed towards the gurgling river regardless. More of the small lights illuminated the path and she rounded a bush to see the dark, shining water. It fell over layers of stones that looked like steps for giants before finally pooling in an area deep enough to swim in.

Bioluminescent plants lit the water up and turned it bright shades of green, blue, and purple. In the middle, sitting on a small rocky throne, was Pidge.

She hadn’t seen Allura yet; her face was turned upwards and her eyes were on the stars. The water swirled around her shoulders as if it was liquid light.

“Pidge,” the princess called.

Turning, the knight looked back over her shoulder at the bank. Her face was barely illuminated by the light in the water with dark shadows across her eyes. “Allura!” Pidge seemed to curl against the rock like a shy mermaid, “Did I wake you?”

Not so much in her leaving, just in the absence. “No,” Allura touched her toes to the surface of the water and watched ripples be swept away by the slow current and became aware of the button up shirt and underwear she was wearing for pyjamas. “Might I join you?”

Pidge drummed her nails against the rock she was hiding behind, looked over in the direction the Green lion was sleeping, and nodded. “There’s towels over there,” she pointed at a tree whose branches and leaves swayed down towards the ground, creating a thick curtain, “and you can hang your clothes on the line.”

 _The line?_ But Allura nodded and pulled back the curtain of vegetation. A wooden stepladder was next to the trunk of the tree with a grass woven basket on each of its six steps. The topmost one held handmade bars of soaps with plants and nuts and salt mixed in. They were wrapped carefully in thick, white leaves, twine keeping the natural packaging in place. Below that were tall glass jars, each one filled with peach, white, and light green substances that were too thick to be liquid. At first, the Princess thought they were lotions but, looking closer, there was something else mixed in that made it look rougher.

She skipped over the basket of sponges and hair brushes and the one beneath it that held more bars that looked like soap but smelled different and settled on the towels. They had been rolled up instead of folded, stacked on top of each other. Allura chose one and ran her fingers over the softened fabric and wondered, briefly, what it was made from.

A line, the one Pidge had talked about, was off to the side, strung between two thick branches. The bloodied tank top and pants had been washed as well as they could be and were still damp when Allura brushed her fingers against them. Fingers gentle and careful, the Princess unbuttoned the shirt and let the fabric slide off her shoulders.  She hung it over the line, joined quickly by her panties, and left the small little alcove for the shore.

Pidge had gone back to watching the stars, the back of her head resting against the rock. Placing her rolled towel next to the other laying on flat stone, Allura stepped down into the water. It was warmer than what she was expecting—not so warm that it felt like her bath at the castle or that steam rose off the surface—and she swam out to where the Knight was waiting with wide, frog strokes.

Silence settled between them as the river gurgled by, swirling around the rocks both women sat upon. Above them, the sky was sprinkled with so many stars that their light illuminated the very tops of the trees, the tips of Pidge’s damp hair, and turned the entirety of the world silver. Two arms bumped together, two sets of lungs breathed in the small flaking of star dust.

“What is this place?” Allura murmured.

“There are too many names for it,” Pidge ran her fingers over the surface of the water and the princess saw a flash of that leaf tattooed on her wrist before it dipped under the ripples and was hidden once more. “Underhill, the Court, Fairyland, The Otherworld, whatever you want to call it,” She pulled her knees up to her chest and sighed—a soft, quiet little sound. “It’s the land of the fae.”

Chittering came from the shadows of the trees and something moved between them, never daring to step into the clearing that belonged to the Green Lion. Allura leaned closer to Pidge and felt her freeze against the touch. She didn’t pull away but, instead, the princess looked up at the stars still, tracing out constellations she made up, finding shapes in the glimmers of light.

After a few, breathless moments, Pidge finally exhaled and relaxed against the touch. Even in the dim light coming from beneath the water, Allura could make out the soft colour that had spread across the knight’s cheeks. Her smile faltered when her eyes stopped on the cut. It had been cleaned, the blood gone and leaving just the angry, scabbed line, but it was... it was odd, that feeling.

She wanted to sooth it, to wipe it off Pidge’s face forever because she couldn’t kill the man who had done it due to the fact that he was already dead.

“Allura?” The knight was watching her, brown eyes almost gold under the silver light; warm and softened like a guitar that was being passed from a parent to their child. She didn’t seem uncomfortable—like a leopard didn’t seem uncomfortable at night or an otter never seemed uncomfortable in a river—but there was a weird edge to her; a storm that was quietly brewing on the horizon.

“I don’t remember if I thanked you,” Allura leaned her cheek against the rock, still watching the other woman’s face.

Pidge tilted her head to the side and frowned. “Thanked me? For what?”

“For keeping me safe.”

 _You did_ , Pidge wanted to say, but she opened her mouth and the words caught in her throat as Allura reached out and touched, gently, the skin under the cut. The princess’ fingers were wet and thin droplets rolled down pale skin, arched across the curve of the Knight’s jaw, and settled on her chin. “I’m sorry that I do not have news of your father.”

Allura felt a brief sting of pain in her chest and she sighed softly. “It’s as you said,” her voice was soft. “I should trust the strength of the Black Knight.” And the strength of the others for, now, she was sure that the creature running through the fire had been the Red Lion. It didn’t stop the strange grip around her heart from easing, but she could ignore it.

Turning her head, Pidge kissed the fleshy centre of the Princess’ palm. Both women closed the distance between each other, curled up against each other’s sides, and their attention moved back up to the stars.

oOo

Sunlight streamed in through glass-less windows, sending streams of gold across messily woven blankets. Allura woke when it reached her eyes, groaning and rolling on her side to get away only to run into something warm and soft. She hummed and peeked, finding soft brown hair and bare, pale skin. Pidge had a dash of freckles across her shoulders that stopped before the cliff of her back.

She remembered leaving the water of the river and racing up wooden stairs, of crawling under covers and pulling the Knight down with her, of giggles lost to the night before both of them had fallen into dreams. Allura reached out and touched Pidge’s shoulder, ran her fingers up and down the skin, and smiled when she earned a sleepy hum from a person that wasn’t quite awake.

Her touch followed the curve of Pidge’s shoulder, down her arm and the lean muscle hidden underneath. The blanket moved away, pushed by her hand, and Allura’s gaze was drawn to something else.

Scars. Straight ones—five of them—that went from the bottom of the knight’s left shoulder blade, curled around the dip of her spine, and ended just beneath her right ribs. A few were broken in the middle, as if her back had been arched and whatever had done it couldn’t reach every surface. The others, however, went uninterrupted.

They were too perfect, Allura thought, sitting up and feeling sick, to have been caused by some accidental means.

There were other scars, smaller, dotting around the lines and sometimes even crossing them, but they didn’t seem as important as those lines.

Allura looked up at Pidge’s face and saw the other woman’s golden eyes staring at the far wall, hooded with an unreadable expression. Not cold, not nearly, but like a doll whose expression didn’t matter and was painted on. The sun played across the curve of her cheek and the strands of her hair, but didn’t cross the bridge of her gaze, leaving the irises in shadow.

“I’m sorry,” the princess said, “I shouldn’t have—”

“No, that’s...” Pidge turned over, pressing her back against the mattress and hiding the old scars. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t.

Allura moved the blanket where it was covering her legs, pulling it off, and straddled the knight. The wool was clumpy and itchy against her knees and the mattress dipped dramatically, making her sway.

Pidge lifted herself on her elbows, “Allura?”

She draped down across the knight’s body so they were face to face and counted the freckles and the small bits of green in brown eyes. Reaching up, the Princess pillowed the other woman’s head under her arms and felt the squirming as the blanket brushed against ribs. “Are you _ticklish_?”

The flush that spread across Pidge’s cheeks was a familiar thing.

“No,” the knight lied. Blatantly.

“ _Really_?” Allura grinned toothily and Pidge shook her head, looking up at the ceiling to avoid the princess’ bright, blue eyes. “Are you sure?”

There was a moment and then—“No?”

“So you are.”

Pidge groaned and pulled the blanket up to cover her face; a remarkable feat, seeing that Allura was laying on it. The princess admired the Knight’s arms before they vanished under the fabric and laughed at the faint groan.

“I won’t tickle you, love, I promise.”

“Dangerous words,” Pidge said, pulling the blanket down from her eyes. They sparkled with humour and her smile. “Do I trust you to stand by them, Princess of Altea?”

Gasping, Allura sat back up, placed a hand over her heart and pouted. “Are you questioning the honour of the Princess?!”

Before she quite knew what was happening, Pidge was pushing up and flipping them over so it was her above the Princess. The blanket fell down between them and the knight went in for the kill, dragging her finger tips over Allura’s ribs and stomach.

“You p-promised!” The princess managed between her frantic giggles, trying to squirm away before realizing the knight had her easily pinned using the fabric and her weight. She didn’t really want to get away though, not with those shining eyes above her or the bright smile that seemed to light the room better than the sun.

“Not I,” Pidge snickered as Allura pushed at her shoulders and face, trying, not very hard, to get her off, “I promised no such thing.”

Gently nudging the Princess’ hands out of her way, Pidge leaned down and kissed her. It was bubbly like a spring and tasted like sunlight and summer joy. Beneath her, Allura hummed happily and breathlessly and wrapped her arms around the other woman’s shoulders to hold her close.

oOo

Pidge left Allura alone in the clearing, going off with the Green Lion to hunt. She left the Princess with enough fruit to feed the entirety of the castle for at least a day.

“Do you need to hunt if you have all of this?” Allura had looked over the cellar with a raised brow.

“Not all of it is mine,” Pidge had said softly but just smiled when the Princess tried to ask her what that meant. Instead, the Knight filled a large, wooden bowl and had given placed it on the table in the workshop ‘for breakfast’ and disappeared between the trees astride the Lion.

The princess rummaged through the books and the odd little wooden wardrobe that was bigger on the inside. She dipped her feet into the river and watched the clouds pass, guessing at their shapes. When she had run out of things to keep her occupied and didn’t want to spend time thinking about her father and the castle and the death in the night, the Princess went up to the highest room in the tree house and slept.

She woke up to creaking wood. Not the kind that belonged in a house, no, this was the creaking of trees as they bent in the wind.

Except there was no wind.

Allura walked slowly down the steps and saw that the shadows between the trees had grown, thickening like underbrush. They didn’t spill into the clearing, kept at bay by (probably) the sun. The creaking stopped and silence settled over the world like those thick, winter quilts back at the castle. “Pidge?” She called carefully.

Something skittered across dirt and the Princess spun around.

There was nothing.

“Pidge?”

Here, with the other woman, she hadn’t felt the strangeness; she hadn’t felt the hostile fangs of not belonging. This wasn’t Altea. At least, not the Altea as she knew it.

Something was watching her, she knew that, somewhere, in the very depths of her being. Something or someone was watching her. “Pidge!” She called out again, a hint of desperation burning along her tongue.

“Allura?” The Knight’s voice came out of the shadows between the trees, “Allura, what’s wrong?”

The river hissed around rocks and the trees groaned while their leaves flittered in a breeze.

Breathing out slowly in relief, Allura shook her head and ignored the sounds behind her, “I guess the past evening is getting to me,” she said sheepishly, “do you mind if I join you and the Lion?” Something cold had settled in her stomach but she ignored it, walking towards the edge of the clearing and closer to the woods.

“Of course not,” Pidge sounded affronted that she had even asked, “please, join me.”

Allura reached the edge of the light and took half a step into the trees.

_Remember; don’t venture into the woods alone._

_Why?_

The Princess froze as the half remembered conversation drifted through her memories this time, though, the last of Pidge’s words reached her.

 _Because they are not kind_ , the Knight had said, _because they are hungry_.

A gnarled hand wrapped around Allura’s wrist and it felt like wet moss and snake scales before it pulled her into the dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  
> ah  
> this went wildly in a direction i hadn't planned  
> but that makes it fun


	3. The Fairy Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, but you must travel through those woods again and again," said a shadow at the window, "and you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time. But the wolf... the wolf only needs enough luck to find you once.” 
> 
> \- Emily Carroll, Through the Woods

Trees passed in the corner of Pidge’s eyes, turning into blurs as the Green Lion sprinted through the wood. The Knight had her fingers buried in Green’s ruff, her body moving as one with the large feline. Heavy paws landed softly on already trampled undergrowth and creatures of fae and fauna origin scrambled out of their way. In front of them, leaves swirled and tumbled, falling and rising upon a living breeze as it lead them through the forest.

They burst into the clearing with its tree house and gurgling river and slid to a stop.

“Allura!” Pidge called out, but there was no answer. “ _Allura!_ ”

Before her, the leaves spun slowly, creating the figure of a young woman. Her face was made of bark, eyes of softened leaves yellowed by seasons.  “It’s as I told you,” the nymph said, her voice that of creaking wood and dripping sap, “she was taken by one of the Púca.”

Pidge dismounted the Green Lion and kicked a rock across the dirt. “It couldn’t have come into the clearing,” she hissed.

“No,” The nymph agreed, “it used your voice to make her enter the forest.”

“ _My_ —” turning her eyes to the edge of the woods, the Green Knight breathed out slowly through her nose. There was nothing there, between the trees. “You said it was a Púca.”

Nodding, the nymph bowed her head and gentle leaves fluttered down to the ground. “Yes.”

“ _Why_?”Púca were tricksters a long time ago when their numbers had been many. After the technology of Altea had grown and the old Quene had fallen, there was very little power in the shape shifters. Some of them were still tricky and vicious and she wouldn’t trust one with a rotten grape, but the fact that they had come out of their way to do something like _this_.

It didn’t make sense.

“Where did they take her?”

The nymph took a strange breath, if it could be called that. “Them,” she corrected softly, “there was only one.”

Pidge frowned and forced patience through her voice. “And where did _they_ take Allura?”

It seemed that the Nymph was afraid to answer, her eyes straying away from the Knight’s face to focus on anything else.

“ _Where_?” Pidge urged.

“Elfame,” The nymph whispered and the world fell silent at the name anyway. Beyond the clearing, the shadows between the trees crackled with an energy that had nothing to do with their darkness and everything that had to do with what lived inside of them.

A cloud passed over the sun.

“That’s _impossible_ ,” Pidge murmured as if she, too, couldn’t seem to break the silence. “Elfame is barred after the death of her Mistress; no one can control it, no one can enter it.”

“No one except a Quene.” The nymph returned and flinched back as if the words had hurt her.

In the past, maybe it would have. Maybe the words would have been too dangerous to speak aloud.

Pidge snarled like a rabid animal, her eyes flashing green. “There is no _Quene_ ,” she spat, “there never will be again.”

But the nymph was already shaking her head. “There is one,” she said, choosing the words carefully. “One who has claimed that she holds control over the Court.”

 _It would explain many things_ , the Green Lion said at last, looking up at the cloudy sky, _the hostility of the fae, the reason why so many have fled deeper into the trees_.

Pidge rubbed both hands down over her face. “Because there is a Quene who believes she can rule Elfame.”

_Quenes rule through many ways._

The knight took a deep, shuddering breath. Green was right, and Pidge turned towards her workshop as the nymph vanished in a flurry of leaves. She couldn’t go in there, armed with only magic. Luck favoured the unknowing in the Otherworld, but this, _this_... someone who was powerful enough to get Elfame to open was no mere fae.

Especially not one who would capture a princess of Altea.

 _Do you know what you’re doing?_ Green laid down in the grass and yawned before resting her massive head on her equally massive paws.

“Of course I don’t,” Pidge murmured, lifting up a glass bottle to stare at its dark amber coloured contents. _St. John’s Wort_ was written across the label. “Anyone who says they know what they’re doing is a liar.”

Green snorted and watched her chosen with unblinking bright eyes. _That is true_ , she said.

oOo

The entrance to Elfame had not changed; its walls embraced by trees with untrimmed branches and blanketed by ivy and flowers so there was no telling where the stone ended and the forest began. There was just the massive, black abyss that was the stone gate. No walls existed because Elfame didn’t exist beyond the gate itself. If Pidge walked around instead of through, she would find nothing more than the woods she stood in now.

Settling in the undergrowth, the Green Lion yawned and rested as Pidge checked the vials on her leather belt, the knife hidden away in her boot, and the jewellery dangling preciously from her wrist.

 _I will anchor it to the Time of this land,_ Green said, her magic digging into the ground like roots, _be swift._

Pidge brushed her hand along the feline’s cheek and fought for the words that seemed to flee deep within the woods.

 _I am afraid_.

_Please, come with me._

“Thank you,” she said instead but the Lion nudged her onward with her nose, eyes bright with knowing. And, with the knowledge that if she turned back, she wouldn’t make it through the gates, Pidge squared her shoulders, checked the leather pouches at her belt one last time, and walked into the dark. It lasted for a moment—a breathless, cold moment—and then she was surrounded by glistening silver fog.

The trees had no leaves, their branches bare and crooked and sharp, trunks twisted in agony. A small, stone pillar, up to her waist, was nary a foot from her hand with a long, wooden torch leaning against it. Fire flickered, small but everlasting in the bright, unstained bowl.

She knew, from history, that if she took that torch another would appear in its place once, that if she tried to blow out the flame it would relight instantly.

Childish laughter echoed from the depths of the trees.

Pidge took the torch and she lit it in the flame. The red was swallowed by the fog, but things in it glistened—small things that shone and twittered about. She ignored them and walked, following the small, dim red in the distance and found the second pillar with its small fire.

On and on she went, following the stack of stones and the bowls of flames until they ended and left nothing but the fog. The trees had grown darker, hungrier. They watched her with eyes hidden in their branches. Pidge lifted the torch and stood still, watching the flame flicker and then lean, ever so gently, to the left. She went that way, stopping every ten steps to make sure that the fire still leaned that way.

Until it didn’t, until it pointed to the right and Pidge followed it further into tall, grey grass and flowers that glowed blue in the dark.

She passed a creek that wet her boots, walked carefully across rocks that made a path through bubbling mud, but never stopped following the flame. Even when rock rose around her, creating a pathway, she didn’t move any faster and checked the fire.

The silver fog faded slowly, leaving green beneath her feet. Trees, no longer twisted and hungry, reached up towards the sunlit sky. Pidge dipped her torch into the last stone pillar, this one with a bowl of water, and doused the flame that had guided her trough. She left it, leaning against the rocks even though it would be gone if she returned for it.

It was better to treat things with respect in places you didn’t belong.

“Knight of Green,” a soft voice said and Pidge turned to face the young girl standing on the pathway. She hadn’t been there a moment ago, but it didn’t matter. “You came.”

“I had no choice.”

The girl tilted her head to the side. It should have been innocent, but her eyes glinted with too much hunger for that. “You always have a choice.”

Pidge thought of Allura and her smile, the way the stars shone across her hair and the sunlight danced in her eyes. “No,” she said, her voice quiet like the eye of a hurricane, “No I did not.”

That made the girl grin and her mouth was filled with too many sharpened teeth.

It was easier to follow the Sharp Teeth Girl than it was to find her own way and Pidge walked, carefully, down the softened path lined with perfectly rounded stones. The trail twisted in circles and went over the same creek twice, but it never led to the same place.

Elfame was a maze, Pidge was careful to keep her face emotionless. Nothing peeked out at her from the trees, but they moved between them, watching the knight and her escort. At last, they stopped before a small, stone platform and the engulfing tree that rested behind it. The same, blue flowers curled up and away from the stone, no longer glowing as they were engulfed in light.

The trunk had been carved out and the girl stopped walking and bowed, motioning Pidge ahead. Instead of the stones, this path was marked by the flowers. A symbol of delicacy for those who didn’t know they were poisonous. She walked up the roots that served as stairs and stopped in the open room, before the wooden throne.

Sprawled across it was a fae, their body long and almost like a stick insect with limbs that reached too far and fingers that seemed more like twigs. Four yellow eyes stared at Pidge from the white face—or, rather, _faces_ as the fae had two—one looking left and the other right before they came to a point where a nose sat on the Knight’s features. A mouth stretched into a smile on both before they opened to speak.

“The Knight graces us with her presence,” said the Faerie Quene.

“Where is Allura?”

Each limb moved with deliberate slowness. A hunter’s slowness. The fae straightened in their chair and tilted their head to the side. “You ask for the Princess of Altea.”

“Be careful,” Pidge’s voice was soft. Her eyes flashed green like a cat’s turned red in the dark, “You sit on that throne because I removed the last one who occupied it.”

Silence settled in the tree and the fae breathed it in, yellow eyes unblinking as they focused upon the Knight. “What would you give?” They mused, “What would you give to have her back?” The fae didn’t seem to be talking to her and, so, Pidge didn’t answer, biting down on her tongue. “Your freedom? Your sanity? Your _life_?”

 _All of it_.

She said nothing.

“A bargain, then, for the Princess of Altea,” the Faerie Quene hummed and tapped long fingers against the wooden throne.

It made Pidge grit her teeth.

“Tell me, Knight of Green, do you play an instrument?”

“No,” Pidge admitted.

The fae seemed disappointed. “So, not a classic bargain, then.” Yellow eyes continued to watch, to stare. “A test of riddles is far too mundane—we are not Fire Lizards after all.”

Pidge thought of the way fae guarded their secrets and treasures and wondered if it wasn’t all that true.

“A test of... _skill_.”

The long scar along the knight’s forearm ached. It was hidden underneath the long sleeve of her tunic, but she reached out and pulled the fabric down closer to her palm, making sure it was hidden from sight. Yellow eyes snapped to the movement and the smile that the fae gave her was victorious.

“Yes,” The Faerie Quene murmured, “a challenge of skill—if you win I will return your precious princess to you.”

“Whole, alive, and as she had been when I left her in the clearing of the Green Lion,” Pidge said and noticed, at last, the silence that had settled around them. No birds, no critters, no whisper of the wind.

Yellow eyes flickered like a hand covering a candle flame. “Whole,” the fae hissed in agreement, as if Pidge had ruined all their fun, “ _alive_ , and as she had been when she was in the clearing of the Green Lion.”

Pidge nodded her own agreement.

The Faerie Quene smiled with both their mouths. “A test of skill for the Princess of Altea. If you die, she is mine. If you give up, she is mine.”

“I know the rules of bargains, _Fairy_.”

Something chattered in the branches. It could have been anger, it could have been laughter. Pidge didn’t quite care for either. But she smiled and the Faerie Quene clicked her tongue.

“My challenge is the Labyrinth of Illusions. Do you accept, Knight of Green?”

Pidge gritted her back teeth and spoke through the front. “I do.”

Clapping her hands, the Faerie Quene smiled that odd, shark smile. “Then let us begin.”

The knight followed a silver furred fox collared with gold and rubies through the twisting hallways of Elfame and wondered, to herself, where Sharp Toothed Girl had vanished. It took only a few seconds before she decided that she didn’t quite want to know. Whatever the fae did was their own business, as long as it didn’t conflict with her business.

Her gaze wandered over the trees leashed together with thick thorn vines and fought the urge to sigh. At the back of her mind, in a connection that surpassed all known laws of science, the Green Lion purred.

On the old, dirt trail, the fox paused, looked back at Pidge, and vanished in a puff of grey smoke. Two small stone pillars were on either side of the pathway, both lit with a blue flame that flickered in a wind that wasn’t there. Beyond them, the woods were dark.

There was no torch this time, nothing to lead her through. She reached for one leather pouch and took out a marble, cradled in twine so it could hang between her fingers. Encased in its glass was a small, blue jay made of something that looked remarkably like gold.

The Maze of Illusions was a dark place—completely dark, with nothing more than the small pillars and their sparse blue flame to light the way. At the edges of the soft glow, the shadows ate at the light as if they were starving beasts. Perhaps they were. Perhaps everything in here was alive.

Pidge lifted the marble up and stepped into the dark.

Behind her, the entrance had already been swallowed, though she hadn’t walked more than a couple of steps. It wasn’t a maze in what one might think; there were no walls beyond the old, broken ruins and the thin trees. No dead ends except the toxic sulphuric mud trap that encircled the labyrinth.

And the only end was to be consumed by the creatures, the shadows, or to find the Shrine of Light in the middle. She didn’t follow the sparks of the flames this time—they wouldn’t help her. The fire here was more likely to lead her to Death than to the exit.

Bargains were fair—and all trials had a solution. Pidge stood in the dim light of the blue flames and breathed in. Pulling upon the link she had with the Green Lion, the knight opened her senses and let the world consume her.

There was an old musty smell, like when water had been sitting too long, and the terrible sweetness of too ripened fruit. Leaves hissed as an unwelcome wind high above her head  ruffled them and soft, padded feet raced along trails she couldn’t see. Beside her, fire crackled.

Most of all; there was dirt. The overwhelming decay and growth and strength of dirt.

Green rumbled in the back of her mind and Pidge opened her eyes. They were green, though she couldn’t see them, and she looked around once more. In her hand, the marble swung and the blue light reached a little farther—enough that she could see the small bird statue with its beak pointing to the left.

She turned and she followed it, stepping carefully through the dark, toeing the roots and branches and hidden stone that wanted to send her careening into the ground until she ran into a small statue that reached just beneath her ribs. Pidge, still holding the marble in one hand, felt around the stone surface, brushing her fingers across small carved indents and long arching slopes until her fingers settled upon the curved tip of a beak.

And so Pidge turned, and she walked in the direction it pointed. The dark receded a couple of times, torches here and there to make patches in the dark, but she didn’t linger long and, if they were too far off her path, she didn’t go to them at all. At one point, she came across the ruins of an old stone tower, a bird carved above the old, empty window facing to the left, and stopped at the staircase leading into the building to rest.

She could see the blue flame just beyond, but didn’t dare let the carving of the bird out of her sight.

(There was also the sound of clicking pincers just beyond the broken doorway, and she remembered that many things were attracted to fire.)

Pidge nibbled on nuts and dried fruit, stretched out her legs, then got up to her feet. She hummed as she wrapped the twine back around her fingers and double checked the pouches and vials on her belt before continuing forward, following the carving of the bird to another statue.

Eyes were glowing in the dark and she didn’t look at them, didn’t acknowledge their existence. They followed her from statue to statue, watched as she traced carvings with her fingers, and hesitated just outside the corner of her eye when she paused to breathe or take a break. Pidge didn’t know what they were, she wasn’t quite sure she ever wanted to.

Curiosity might be a trait of the Green Lion, but stupidity wasn’t. One day she’ll ask and Green would probably tell her fairy tales that were more like horror stories. That seemed to be the common theme between the stories of the fae; they were terrific in the way that terrific was born of the word _terror_.

She didn’t want to become a story to be passed along to scare children into staying in their beds. Pidge ignored the prickling between her shoulder blades and kept stumbling through the darkness. And if the eyes came across her path, she made sure to never look directly at them.

Out of the darkness, there came a clearing. It was framed by four torches and a single bird statue pointing forward in the centre. Around it, untouched by the light, was a black mass and a single, pale arm with darkened fingers reaching up towards the sky. The thumb twitched and Pidge breathed in, lifted her marble to eye level, and looked through the glass above the blue jay’s head. A mass of arms, broken and limp, were revealed underneath the black shadows.

They were still, like a tiger in waiting.

Pidge lowered the marble and sighed. “I hate you,” she told the shadows meaningfully. “I really do.”

There was no response and if there had been one she… well, Pidge wasn’t quite sure what she would have done. Instead, she held the marble to her chest and took a step forward.

The mass of darkness writhed and a dagger of quintessence was in her hand in an instant, slashing out at the grasping, desperate hand that aimed for her throat. It reeled back and she slipped around the limb to sprint towards the stone that had been shaped into a bird.

Around her, the hands hidden in the dark erupted under her feet, clawing for a grasp of an arm, a leg, a bit of clothing. Pidge stared ahead, at the torchlight and the bird with its empty, broken eye socket.

It mocked her, _dared_ her.

Her toes slipped on a stone sticking partially out of the dirt.

The world tilted sideways.

“ _No_!”

Fingers grasped her shirt and wrenched her towards the darkness. Away from the light and the bird. More fumbled along her neck and the nails raked and grasped her hair, pulling her head back and bearing her unprotected throat. A creature rose up from the ground. It had no eyes, no hands, barely even a body beyond the bloodied, mass of flesh.

An ugly, bulbous thing with cuts and bruises along the pale skin.

But it had a neck like a giraffe with scattered and broken rectangular teeth in a mouth that opened wider and wider and—

The enraged roar that rose from Pidge’s throat came from the very depth of her being. It was that same, desperate rage that gave her strength to rip her arm away from the hand holding it still. The rage that gave her the sped to step forward into the creature’s space.

(Rage or fear. Both felt the same against her sternum.)

She stabbed the dagger into the black, open mouth, green igniting wrinkled, rotting flesh as it sunk to the hilt. A high pitched keen came from the creature and it wrenched backwards, neck twitching and sending the bulbous, rounded head swaying back and forth.

Pidge scrambled away from the hands and the creature, forced herself onto her feet, and sprinted towards the bird. Her hand came down on the beak, steadying her legs for long enough that she could dart through the other two stone pillars and their torches to vanish back into the dark. It forced her to slow, to toe along the ground, to _think_.

She didn’t look back, both from fear that clawed up in her rib cage and the desperation that if she looked back she could lose her way.

And she couldn’t.

She _couldn’t_.

The dagger was still in her hand and Pidge couldn’t bear to let it go, not this one little bit of light. Holding it one hand and clutching the twine of the marble in the other, she tried to slow her breathing and her feet, working forward slowly.

Every creak made her heart jump against her lungs, every rustle of leaves almost had her spinning on her heels. The trees, revealed now outside the torches, were twisted with ghoulish frowns and grotesque smiles made of chopped branches and scars in the bark. Knobs made glaring eyes and their curved, bare branches looked like crowns upon their brows.

Pidge stuck to the invisible path, still only guided by the direction the birds were pointing. That didn't change. With each step, it seemed as if the trees were inching closer. The shadows looming and shrinking, swallowed and appearing like lightning on the horizon. A wind blew the dried leaves up off the path, playing with them before letting them drop back to the ground. Thorns bushes started weaving up between gaps of roots, mushrooms nestled around them, and small little leafy herbs dotted along the path.

The trees stayed bare, stayed still, watching and waiting.

"It was not I who harmed you," Pidge said, stopping on the path. Around her, the silence stayed. "It was not I who poisoned your ground. Let me pass in peace."

There was no movement from the trees and the Knight stepped forward once, twice, and then continued walking.

The Oakmens' eyes watched her, but they did not follow. Pidge felt them burning into her back but she didn't stop and she never looked back. Darkness pulled away after a couple of minutes, and there was a column and a torch. Blue flame was a welcoming sight, the stone ruins enough of a safe area that she could sit and stretch out her legs, check for injuries that might have been missed.

A dark, squishy bruise wrapped her ankle and there was blood across her forehead from where nails had raked across her skull. It flaked off when she ran her fingers over it and Pidge winced when they touched the edge of a gash beneath her hair. There were other bruises on her arms and wrists, shaped like the pads of fingers or skeletal hands. Some of them had trails of thin red slashes that looked like comets across her pale skin. Pidge pressed moss against the worst of it and wrapped bandages around it.

With a sigh, she laid back against cold stone to rest (but she didn't close her eyes, she didn't dare to). Before an hour had passed, Pidge was back on her feet, stretching and then following the carvings back into the dark. The marble tinkled gently against her bracelet but besides that and the sound of her breathing, there was nothing. Pidge was painfully aware of that silence as she walked forward, shuffling on her toes as every cracking leaf and kicked pebble echoed around her.

Further and further she went, listening and holding her breath but it was only until the Labyrinth chose that she finally heard the deep, rumbling snores. It shook through her body, trembling through her ribs, and sent her heart charging like a horse on a track. Second was the smell—ripened, musty, rot and the stench of sweat. She almost gagged but, in the end, only was staring wide eyed at the ground as she panted.

Small chandeliers with little flames lit up half torn down buildings. There were windows from broken walls, shadows climbing up through them, but in the middle of it all—that's where the sound as coming from. Pidge rubbed one hand over her face and tried not to think about how big something would have to be to make the earth tremble with its snores.

She worked her way around the broken structures, using the little amount of light to watch her feet. The bird was nowhere—no statues, no carvings on the broken buildings. The outline of the creature sleeping in the dark was highlighted on the edges and swallowed everywhere else so she couldn’t quite tell what it was. Crimson skin, chipped fingernails, a hand that was bigger than her torso. With no bird, Pidge climbed up onto one of the broken stone platforms and sat under the little chandelier with its small blue flame.

There were two options; either she was blind and the damn bird was in plain sight.

Or.

_Or._

It was underneath the creature sleeping in the middle of the clearing.

Pidge wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and tried not to breathe too deeply. A deep resentment was building up in her chest for the Labyrinth with its dark shadows and looming trees. There was nothing she could do but play its game, however. No matter how much she abhorred doing so.

Looking through the old window out into the courtyard, Pidge focused on finding a way to get the creature to move. It was clearly bigger than her and, with no plans of dying, she didn’t want to fight it. A green dagger gave off enough light so she could explore her surroundings, looking for other things, simpler things.

A wooden bow was leaning against one of the trees and she snatched it, tested the string. Her archery skills were... alright. She could hit a target. Sometimes that was all that was needed. A couple of wooden barrels were hidden underneath some half broken stairs, filled with a slime substance. She could make a pretty well founded educated guess on how to use _that_ , but getting those barrels up the half broken stairs to sit under one of the lit, hanging chandeliers was a... process.

She placed the marble and it’s twine into the pouch at her belt and stretched before getting to work.

Pidge stacked them like a pyramid and then made her way to the structure on the opposite side of the clearing. The creature snorted and reached up, scratching its stomach and she froze; eyes staring straight forward, until the back of its hand was on the ground. It took far longer than she wanted to climb up the crumbling wall, but, eventually, she managed to get on what was left of the building’s roof.

She couldn’t see the rope holding up the chandelier, so the shot would have to be made mostly blind, but she could see the barrels which were all Pidge wanted to be sure of. Drawing the bow, Pidge called upon the same magic that let her draw her daggers and an arrow formed. It was green and vibrant, almost blinding in the dark, and the Knight did what she could to focus past that glow to the unmoving chandelier.

A deep breath steadied her arms and, with a gentle exhale, Pidge released.

The arrow exploded into fireworks as it hit stone and the Knight drew another. _I promise,_ she swore, _that I will practice every day if you let me hit this one damn shot_.

In the back of her mind, the Green Lion laughed.

Pidge released the arrow and watched it slice through something before vanishing into the dark. That wasn’t important. What mattered was falling and spilled flame across the top of wooden barrels.

They ignited with ease and she knew it would be no more than a few seconds before the wood was burned through so she did her best to clamber down from the rooftop.

She miscalculated the age of the wood.

She miscalculated the amount of the gel she had placed under the fire.

The barrels exploded while she was still trying to get down the wall and the force knocked her shoulder into one of the many trees. It sent her spinning and crashing into the dirt, elbow knocking into a rock and chin hitting hard enough she thought she heard her teeth crack through the sharp ringing echoing in her skull.

Everything went black for a couple of seconds and Pidge laid on the ground, just breathing as white dots danced in her eyes and bees filled her ears. She reached up to touch the place where jaw connected to skull and her fingers came back wet.

 _Damn_.

Her shoulder ached and she didn’t try pushing herself up just yet, letting her vision settle and the pain dull. The ground shuddered beneath her and it took a moment before she realized that the explosion had done its job in waking up the creature and getting it to move, but she had no idea if it would see her, laying on the ground.

 _Get up_ , a soft voice told her and it didn’t belong to the Lion that waited, cautious, on the edge of her consciousness. _Get up, Pidge._

Bracing her hands beneath her, Pidge forced herself up to her feet and breathed in the acidic stench of something burning. It was still dark—the explosion hadn’t changed that even though there were some patches of grass that were on fire. Standing on shaky legs, the Knight saw that the clearing was clear, that the creature was now peeking through the window on the other side and she took a step forward.

Her body tipped sideways and Pidge cursed as her knees hit the ground.

Now that it was standing, however, she saw just what she was dealing with; a Cyclops. It’s one, bulbous eye glowing yellow in the dark. Pidge wiped her mouth and ignored the liquid she felt on the back of her hand.

There was no way to fight it; the bow was broken, one end lodged in a tree while the other dangled by the string. Instead, she tried to crawl forward, keeping as silent as possible.

She just needed the bird, just needed to see which way it pointed. A single glimpse; it didn’t even have to be the full bird. Something of that damn stupid ass _bird_. Preferably the beak but all of their feet had pointed in the same direction.

So, any part.

Any part of a bird.

Inch by inch Pidge worked her way forward, keeping the Cyclops in the corner of her eye as it started tearing through the stone, ripping the building apart piece by piece and throwing those bits where ever it pleased. It looked like it was enjoying itself. That was nice. At least one of them was having fun.

The less fun part was the fact that she couldn’t hear the stones being pulled from each other, the sounds the Cyclops was making, or the thud of each brick as it hit the ground. She felt each footstep through the entirety of her body—her bones moaning each time. But she crawled through the grass, trying to keep her breathing even as lightning arched through her jaw.

Pidge had to stop when the world swayed too much and rested her chin on her folded arms. The Cyclops still had about two thirds of a building to go so she figured she had some time to straighten the universe before all hell broke loose. Each breath was like she was inhaling fire though and she couldn’t stay still for too long.

With a small grunt, she forced her way forward, breathing in through her nose and trying her hardest not to grit her back teeth. The edge of the clearing was made of light stone. _Easier to see you with, my dear_ , Pidge thought as the fire made the pale seem to glow.

Perhaps it did.

She could see the etching of the bird and Pidge, in desperation, started to get up to her feet.

The feet, the body, the _head_ —

Her jaw took that moment to remind her it existed and that it was in pain. There was no stopping the grunt, no stopping the Cyclops from hearing the sound. She felt the thuds as it started turning around.

Its single tread was equal to about ten of hers. On a good day. There would be no point in running.

Pidge’s eyes found the beak of the bird as her fingers fumbled with the one of the vials at her waist. She was lucky that the small glass bottles hadn’t broken. Lucky, or would have to thank the person who enchanted them when all this was done with. Fingers fumbled with the cork, unable to get a proper grip as the Cyclops shook the ground as it came closer.

Her fingers failed her and, bracing for the pain, she bit down on the cork and wrenched it off. Vision going white for a moment, she dropped the cork and fought the urge to vomit over her own shoes, just managed to swallow it down. Blindly, she spilled the St. John’s Wort in a half circle between her and the Cyclops, dropped the vial, and prepared for a world of agony.

Blinking and panting, she looked up at the giant, yellow eye, found that there was now two of them in her gloriously swimming vision, named the second one Fuck Off _,_ and thought; _bring it_. The Cyclops, so close she could feel its breath, stepped on the grass she had spilled the oil.

And then it staggered back like it had gone nose first into a brick wall.

Pidge took that time to dig out her marble from the pouch and gently press her fingers against the squishy part of her jaw. Each touch was a needle stabbing into her skin, so she quickly stopped doing that. The Cyclops roared as it hit the St. John’s Wort wall, but she didn’t hear it. She saw the trees shake and the giant mouth open, could smell the rancid breath of rotten fish.

But there was nothing except the alarming ringing in her ears.

So she smiled and she waved and she turned to the dark to continue the trial. When the darkness swallowed her again, however, she summoned a dagger and kept it high, like a torch with a small little hope that nothing was going to come at her out of the trees.

 _I’m coming Allura,_ she thought, _I’m coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh happy? valentines day? 
> 
> i worked on this chapter and then i got legend of zelda from my gf at christmas and thought "knight and a princess! oh this'll be great!" and it was great but i spent four weeks completing the entire game (100% completion; finding the koroks, the shrines, the places on the map, taking a picture of every stupid thing that exists). i did it! and then i came back to this chapter and i thought; "there's no way what i have planned is going to fit in this one chapter".
> 
> So here i am and, uh, here you are. 
> 
> i am a fan of whump so... there will be more of that. if you want me to change the tags i will?

**Author's Note:**

> so there's an explicit version of this but lmao i haven't wrote smut in 5 years so if u want it ask nicely cause i won't post it otherwise lolol
> 
> i fucking LOVE this au god damn i never stop thinking about it


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